Broken
by InkedBaby
Summary: Draco wonders why Potter testified at his trial, Harry wonders why Malfoy wonders the castle at night, completely unaware of the world. Non-canon. Graphic descriptions of self-harm. Magical equivalence of drug use. Further warning inside. Rated for metioned reasons.


**An: I wanted angst, and a lot of the well written angst I find revolves around canon, which I don't like, so I decided to write my own. Which will probably not be as well written as I'd like it to be, but oh well.**

**WARNINGS: This is a tentative start to a friendship story. Not epilogue compliant. Non-canon Dark Mark back story. Non-canon in general. Graphic descriptions of self Harm. Magical equivalent of drug use. Mentions of past torture. Lonely, lost teenagers, who don't know what the fuck to do with themselves. Kinda like real life, huh? **

**Oh, and this is written in a funky style that I kind of slipped into the habit of writing accidentally. I know it isn't most people's cup of tea, but I'd love for you to try it out anyway. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.**

Draco watched an unruly head of black hair slowly make its way through the crowd, and knew a pair of deep green eyes were hiding beneath the fringe. Ever since coming back for their eighth year at Hogwarts, Potter had seemed somewhat... different then usual. No longer did the boy run around doing who-knows-what and striving for attention he didn't really need. Something was off, and Draco couldn't really place it. The boy was rarely seen associating with anyone, and the last time Draco actually heard Potter talk willingly was at his own trial following the numerous funerals of the summer.

How depressing.

Draco couldn't even count the number of funerals he'd been dragged to in a futile attempt for Lucius to unblemish the Malfoy name. Lucius sprouted all kinds of bullshit in an attempt to look sorry and sympathetic to the loss, but all that was accomplished was a deep feeling of despair in Draco's gut as he remembered all of these funerals were probably brought on by his own actions.

Draco knew Lucius's attempts were all in vain, something he would have never spoken aloud to his father. He had been right all along, though, proven when Lucius was sent to Azkaban for a 80 year sentence due to unforgivable war crimes. A sentence that was impossible to survive in a place like Azkaban. Narcissa and Draco, on the other hand, had gotten off lightly. The former had been sentenced to 10 years of house arrest, only being spared from Azkaban herself due to the infamous events in the Forbidden Forest that led to Harry Potter's survival. Draco, to his own utter embarrassment, had been completely let off the hook. It wasn't that he was embarrassed to be free, no. He was embarrassed about how this came about.

The Gryffindor Golden Boy, proving the accuracy of his given title, had plead for Draco's misdeeds to be overlooked in front of the the entire court room. Draco, having caught on that the begging never actually included a reason as to why anyone should overlook what he'd done, was shocked when Potter's wishes were granted. Shocked and more then a little interested. When Draco realized his was the only trial Potter had spoke at, including those of wizards he knew Potter knew were not Death Eaters, Draco's interest in the boy grew greatly.

This is how Draco took to watching the boy-hero.

Well, Draco couldn't really deny the fact that Potter was indeed a man now, not a boy, but that was beside the point.

Ever since Draco watched the emotional, very near breakdown, in the court room that day, his mind had been on a whirlwind through different emotions. At first Draco was relieved to be let off the hook, nobody wanted to spend any time in Azkaban, but relief was quickly replaced with rage. Who did Potter think he was, he had no idea what Draco had done in this war. No one did, no one except for himself and the Dark Lord. Who was Harry Bloody Potter to beg for Draco's unearned redemption?

After the anger had sizzled out, though, Draco was left embarrassed and curious. How pathetic was he that he had to have his childhood rival grovel at the feet of his prosecutors to save him? And why would he do it in the first place? Admittedly, as the days went on, Draco's embarrassment grew smaller and smaller, but his wonder never left. And shame started sprouting up every now and then when he really thought about how little he deserved Potter's heroics. In order to push all his emotions at bay to avoid letting them get the best of him, again, he watched Potter endlessly.

The more he watched, the more anger he felt towards the world. Draco was still unable to discover why Potter fought for his life, but he did discover that maybe the fate Potter had been dealt with had broken the boy a little more then he liked to let on.

Potter used to have this spark in his eyes constantly, Draco would recall when he'd catch a brief glimpse of lifeless green eyes staring blankly, sometimes not even a trace of thought to be followed behind them. He'd watched those dull orbs slightly refocus when something was expected of him, then glaze back over moments later. Draco always wondered where Potter went when he was like this, but his face gave nothing away. The only tale that face told was of empty, black sorrow, and nobody close to Potter was observant enough to notice.

Eventually, Draco grew to hate the world. Well, more then he already did, anyway. How could all these people expect so much from one person? How dare the world throw themselves on top of one fragile boys shoulders. Who did all of these pathetic wastes of space think they were? Didn't they see how broken Potter was, didn't they see that all he'd been through had damaged their "Savior". They didn't deserve Harry Potter, but unlike Draco, they were all to idiotic to see it. While Draco could fully admit to himself he didn't even deserve to be allowed to glance at the dirt on the bottom of Potter's shoes, all these other imbeciles seemed to think Potter somehow owed them his heroics. Draco was disgusted.

DMDMHPHP

Draco had taken to wondering around at night. Every night he'd attempt sleep, wake up terrified a few hours later, gulp down the shimmering silver liquid he usually made sure to have too much of, then spend the rest of the night walking the castle futilly trying to distract himself from his demons. Something about the darkness around him mixed with the haziness from the potion comforted Draco from the darkness within himself. Usually, Draco's night's were spent so caught up in his own mind that he'd see the sunrise the next morning and not realize where he was in the castle, how he got there, or where all the time seemed to go. It never crossed his mind that something had to be up, seeing as a professor had never caught him out after curfew, but Draco was just too lost to realize.

Harry pulled himself out of his thoughts as he recognized the familiar flicker of black robes and blonde hair through his peripheral vision. It hadn't been til a few weeks into their eighth year at Hogwarts that he started noticing he had company on his nightly walks through the castle. At first, he had been to caught up in himself to notice, but ever since the first night he saw Draco Malfoy wondering, what seemed to be, aimlessly through the school, Harry's attention had been caught.

Harry had been sitting near the dungeons, lost in thought, balancing a sharp piece of metal against his inner forearm, the first night he saw Malfoy. He'd long since given up trying to go to sleep. Staying awake until his body literally gave out from exhaustion was one of the only things that helped him rest. That, and the swirling blue liquid in the small glass vial he kept tucked away in his robes. That night, though, he had not wanted to sleep, and decided for one of his regular walks around the castle. Harry knew walking around the castle made him uneasy ever since the final battle, but his memories only treated him worse.

Harry had been sitting curled up in an alcove across from Snapes old office when he first spotted Malfoy. He hastily hid his blade, then reached for his invisibility cloak at first, but his actions were halted when he took in the older boys face. Harry stomach clenched as the first images he'd ever seen of Draco through Voldemorts eyes assaulted him. Grey eyes that were now wondering the halls blindly were clenched in sheer terror as the boy was thrust into the center of a circle and relentlessly tortured. Death Eaters laughed hysterically, happily throwing curses Harry had never even heard of at the young Malfoy. All because he'd refused to torture a mudblood. They'd taunted him and provoked him, and made all the more fun of him when he'd cry out in pain. Harry snapped back to reality and swallowed the bile rising up in his throat. No matter how hard he tried he was never really able to shake the blood from that first vision. The blood that Harry kept trying to convince himself was more abundant then the blood that day in the bathroom, or the blood in the sink when he really let things catch up with him.

He looked back up at the blonde once more, Malfoy passed right by Harry, a bland look on his face, and didn't even acknowledge that another person was in his presence. That's when Harry took to watching the boy. At first he tried to convince himself that he was only doing it out of suspicion, but Harry soon realized he didn't care enough to think up excuses anymore. Harry followed Malfoy regularly, hidden beneath his cloak, as the blonde ghosted through the halls effortlessly. Whenever he heard a professor he'd hastily cast a disillusionment charm at his once rival, and the boy would still continue on unnoticing.

It wasn't until months later that Harry worked up the courage to walk with Malfoy without his cloak. He didn't really know why he was so hesitant at first, Malfoy never showed any acknowledgement of the world outside of his own mind, but given their history, Harry never took chances. The first time he took off his cloak, he was shifty and nervous the whole next day, entirely sure Malfoy would angrily call him out on his stalking, even if he hadn't in the night.

Following Malfoy proved to be difficult for Harry. Every time he caught a glimpse of unseeing, grey eyes he'd flash into the revolting thoughts of Voldemort. Voldemort had seemed to think it was funny to share his torture habits with Harry through their linked minds, and there was nothing he could do about it. Harry had never confided in his friends that Voldemort used the link between them more often then he initially let on. Way more often. At first, it was only every few nights, but as his power grew, so did the number of visions he'd share with Harry. The horror infused dreams were thrust upon Harry's mind every singly night until Tom Riddle's downfall, and most of the days, as well.

Harry was even repulsed to admit to himself that a large portion of his nightmares involved Draco. Voldemort seemed to be amused by sending Harry images of his school mates either being tortured, or torturing others. Once he realized images of himself doing the deeds only served to infuriate Harry, instead of eat at him, Voldemort had gotten wiser. He never really did understand how Veldemort came privy to the information that the visions of people who knew, and especially Malfoy truly affected him more than the other's, but he did. And of course he used that to his advantage.

Harry had watched the progression in Draco's personality as he went through his stint as a Death Eater. He'd watched Draco plead not to get the mark, tears streaming down his face, ribs being broken by painful blows from his own father for being weak, and the mark forced upon him anyway as he screamed about the burning eating at his arm. He watched Draco be disgustingly tortured, imperiused, and forced to torture himself and his mother. He'd seen the exact moment Draco broke, his Slytherin instinct to protect himself finally kicking in. That's when the torturing of Draco Malfoy stopped entering his mind at night. The new image, though, we're dreams of Draco torturing others. Harry stopped trying to hide the fact that he was slightly relieved when the dreams shifted long ago, but he never let his mind wonder why. Mostly, Malfoy's victims had been people Harry, nor Malfoy knew, but sometimes it was their classmates, Malfoy's friends. Harry saw the disgust in Malfoy's eyes as he obeyed his master, though, and not only was the disgust aimed at Voldemort, it was aimed mostly at himself.

Harry was sure that if it was Malfoy's mind he was linked with, he'd see the breakdown's later, when he was alone. But it wasn't Malfoy he was linked to, and only the horrifying, disgusting images were sent his way.

When Harry sat with Malfoy, on the night's when the blonde seemed too exhausted to move much further, they'd end up on the astronomy tower. Harry never wondered why Draco would want to be there, and Draco probably never remembered he went there in the first place. They'd sit, and Harry would watch the older boys face. He'd watch the pain flicker in his eyes and mouth turn down in a self loathing sneer. Sometimes, he'd even watch those perfect, delicate hands claw at scars scattering up and down porcelain wrists, one bare, and one with a mutilated black image, completely unrecognizable. The scars were in various stages of healing, and some of the marks weren't even scars yet. Harry felt his eyes burn as he stared at the arms that so closely mirrored his own, unconsciously scratching at his own wrists in understanding.

HPDMHPDM

The boys' pattern continued. Harry would force himself through his days, oblivious to the cautious gray eyes following him, then Draco would wonder through his nights, too far below the influence to notice the comforting body steadily in his presence. It wasn't until about midway through the year when Draco Malfoy caught on the his nightly companion. The Castle grounds we're chilly with winter sweeping up around the school. As cold as the rest of the castle was, the dungeons were half the temperature. Unwilling to move out of the comfortable bubbles of their warming charms, let alone brew any potions, the Hogwarts population was running low on Draco's nightly vice.

Not one to beg, or show any sort of weakness, really, Draco remained quiet. Not that any of his friends knew about his, what they would no doubt deem a 'problem,' but he was still silently suffering. The small razor he'd conjured up was gripped tightly between his fingers, begging him to give in. Sure, Draco would try to fight it, but he knew it was futile. Images of his past came whirling around in his far to unclouded mind and Draco fought to keep his emotions at bay. Sharp red eyes were smirking down at him as dull blue ones stared blankly back up. The fight behind the blue eyes was gone, whether because the person belonging to them grew tired of fighting, or lost their sanity in the struggle, Draco would never know. All he knew, was the fight was gone, and he was the monster who stole it.

Draco had felt the memories building up inside of him all day, filling him so full, too full. Every glimpse of dark hair and dull green eyes bringing another memory of why Draco was so unworthy of any sort of compassion with it. If he had his potion, he wouldn't have this problem. He'd already be in a pleasant haze, one where the memories still reached him, but were easily pushed away when swirling bright colors and memories of a happier time were so much easier to come by.

Draco watched himself in the mirror. He felt like his body was full of pressure, the pressure of every single life he ruined and nightmare he'd caused. The pressure of every single nightmare he would have caused if the person had survived long enough to look back and remember. He felt his throat constrict painfully, fighting back the vomit that he had nothing in his stomach to produce. The walls seemed to be closing in on him, and nothing was going to stop it. Nothing could even hope to make what he'd done better. Nothing would provide any sort of relief to the build up of every terrible thing he'd done beneath his skin, pressing against every one of his organs, reminding him of how revolting he really was. Nothing.

Nothing except the little silver razor sitting innocently in the palm of his hand. He looked down at the slim piece of metal, longing for some sort of outlet. Draco felt like he could see each of the memories he was trying to hold at bay seeping up to the surface of his skin, trying to let themselves be known. He pressure was becoming too much, the weight of the blade was heavy in his hand, and the push in his skin from the inside out was unbearable. With one last glance at the sharp tool, he brought it up to his arm, not even attempting to find a patch of scar-less skin to mar, and silently relieved the pressure.

Blood spilled in the sink like relief. The sharp breath he'd been unable to let out finally left him slowly as he felt the presence of every sin he'd ever committed slowly drain out of himself, and down the rusty drain, if only for a moment. He watched the blood swirl that deep disgusting color or the Dark Lord's eyes then get deluded by the slightly running water.

Draco watched himself bleed until he was light headed. The uncomfortable, airy feeling of missing too much of a vital part of your being focused his mind and brought him back to his senses as he quickly patched his arm up the muggle way. The swatch of fabric he wrapped tightly around his arm instantly had a deep red mark that was steadily growing. He pulled it tighter, covered it with one more piece, then told himself that would have to do. Draco glanced around nervously as he left the bathroom, his usual high obviously having some sort of affect on his comfortability about being out after curfew, then snuck quietly out of the dorms without a second more of hesitation.

Draco made his way through the dungeons, vaguely wishing he'd grabbed his cloak while he decided which way he was going to go. Deciding to not think, and just feel, as he presumed was his usual routine, Draco began walking whichever way his feet decided to take him. Draco never realized how nerve racking being out at night, uninhibited, really could be. Every noise had the boy looking nervously over his shoulder and bracing himself to be caught.

When Draco reached Severus' old office, he nearly froze in shock. He took in the dark figure, leaning casually against the wall, staring blankly back at him. Nothing but a head of disastrously messy hair giving his identity away in the night. His initial reaction should have been to run; run, or defend his actions. But he did neither.

"Potter?" he asked quietly, taken off guard by the casual, somewhat expectant look on the other boy. Draco was still dizzy from blood loss, and anxious with the idea of getting caught, but apparently thinking about the consequences of blurting out your so-called enemy's name unceremoniously wasn't all that important.

Harry raised an eyebrow, the shock at Draco's recognition barely registering on his face, as he kicked off from the wall. He wondered when Malfoy would be aware enough of himself to notice him, and if the was all the reaction he was going to get, that was probably a good thing. "Finally," was Harry's only answer as he gestured for Malfoy to follow him, Draco surprising himself when he did.

The boys walked quietly, one too caught up in his thoughts to say much, and the other still in shock with the whole situation. The silence continued as the two wondered throughout the school until professors were heard quietly discussing OWL's in an adjacent corridor. Draco froze, grey eyes widening anxiously as he let out a somewhat hysterical "Potter!"

The dark haired boy let out the briefest hints of a smile before moving closer to the blond and tossing the light, flowing material of the invisibility cloak over the both of them. "We'll have to stay in the shadows, you're taller then I am, so our feet'll show." Draco nodded in understanding, not letting his wonder at the silky material encasing him show. Sure, he'd heard about Potter's cloak, but hearing about an invisibility cloak, and being hidden beneath one were two very different things. Once he got passed his brief emotion towards the cloak, he realized that Potter had just spoken more words to him then he'd heard say to any other person in the past half year, he tried not to let himself feel any sort of way at the discovery.

Harry watched Malfoy out of the corner of his eyes, just barely amused at the openness of the boys face. Harry was so used to his cloak that he rarely remembered they weren't such a common thing in the world, and even Malfoy might not have seen one up close before. The blondes expression quickly changed from hidden excitement to confusion then what looked to be discomfort. Harry's eyebrows furrowed as he realized he wondered what Malfoy was thinking. He then decided, despite his frustration at not knowing what was going on behind those unusually lucid, grey eyes, that he might like Malfoy more now then when he was not all present.

The two boys continued walking, Draco flinching slightly into Harry's side as they passed the small group of professors, and only relaxing when they were out of ear shot. He mumbled something along the lines of that probably taking time to get used to, not expecting the answering nod from Potter.

Draco hadn't realized where the two were going for a great majority of the way, instead he blindly followed Potter, still under the confines of the invisibility cloak. When he did recognize the path, though, panic started welling within him. The pressure was back, and the light headedness from his actions in the bathroom earlier weren't seeming to be as effective as they were before. Draco could feel his breath start to quicken and was sure Potter heard it, but the boy didn't acknowledge it if he did. Draco couldn't figure out why Potter would take him here. Did he think it was funny? Draco wondered why he followed Potter in the first place. Sure, something about the boy had always drawn him in, but why the fuck would he think the boy would treat him any differently now then before?

For some reason, Draco continued to follow the other boy. With each step, the pressure continued to well up in his body, an all to familiar feeling. His skin felt to tight for his body, and his head was pounding. Draco's hands clenched in fists, hid nails digging angrily into the flesh in his palms, no doubt breaking the skin.

As they reached the door to the astronomy tower, Potter seemed to catch on to Draco's inner turmoil, his hand freezing above the door handle. He looked from Draco's panic ridden eyes, to his chest that was rapidly rising and falling, to his hands fisted tightly at his sides. Draco watched as Potter squinted, seeming to assess the moment before taking one sharp step back. "You come here every night."

Malfoy's confusion showed clearly on his face, and the panic hidden beneath it shot sharp images of the past memories that weren't his own straight into Harry's mind eye. He watched the blonde boy crippled on the floor begging, and not for his own mercy, but for a half-blood's. Harry blinked back the image, and watched Malfoy. Those grey eyes were staring, unfocused, at the door to the top of the tower. Harry noted that the Slytherin seemed to be looking through it. He could almost see the images of that fateful night playing in grey orbs, and felt this was confirmed at the horrified wince before the eyes regained focus.

The boy reached out to grab for the handle, then his motions faltered. Draco looked back at Potter, his whole body tensed as he waited for the taunting remark or look of disgust. Neither came.

"I know somewhere else." Potter pulled the cloak over both of their heads, then turned around to go back down the stairs, Draco still closely following, grateful at Potter's lack of comment at his near breakdown. They walked down corridors Draco was sure he'd never been down and off through a door that looked as if it'd been long forgotten. At first Draco thought it might have been a new addition in Hogwart's rebuild, but the state of the room told him otherwise.

Harry walked to the center of the room, and folded himself sloppily onto the floor, not waiting for the other boy as he pulled his knees up to his chest. Unsure of what else to do, Draco followed, allowing a small distance between the two of them, then settling down gently next to him, mirroring his position.

So many questions were raddling through Draco's head as he sat next to the Boy-Who-Lived. The smallest of which being, how did Potter even know of this place. Not caring about the answer to that one at the moment, Draco's mind wandered back to the summer. the summer filled with the aftermath of the war, the memories of death and an onslaught of sorrow, and the wrongful acquittal of all of his charges. He itched to ask Potter why he testified for him. Draco couldn't even figure out why the other boy was even aware of when his trial was, let alone why he came to it. Draco wasn't even worth Harry Potter's presence at his trial, let alone the boy begging on his behalf.

Draco started becoming antsy, his fingers dancing across his arms, and feet tapping on the stone floor. He vaguely registered his appreciation for the long sleeves he was wearing, shielding his arms from Potter's view, then grimaced when he realized he probably wasn't always wearing long sleeves on the nights Potter was with him at the astronomy tower. The boy was probably disgusted with him. Draco was disgusted with himself. Who knew what Potter had seen all those nights, Draco willed himself to remember, but knew it'd be futile at best. He pushed back his curiosity of how the arrangement of their nights being spent together came to be when his thoughts trailed back to his trial. That was a question he'd been craving the answer to for months, all of these new questions barely held weight in comparison.

Draco couldn't contain himself much longer. He knew he was fidgeting obnoxiously, a habit any Malfoy should be ashamed of, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Draco was biting his tongue to keep his question at bay, not sure if Potter would be willing to talk to him at all.

Before Malfoy could convince himself that if Potter was here he probably wouldn't be too repulsed with Draco to answer one question, Harry's own curiosity got the best of him. "What?" he asked Draco quietly, looking over at the boy's tapping fingers and conflicting expression.

Draco didn't know how to answer Potter, his thoughts suddenly frozen as he looked down at himself, stilling all of his motions, and looked back up into the Gryfffindors' eyes. Not ably to form a coherent sentence, no matter how long he'd been thinking about the topic, Draco spoke the first words that came to his mind.

"Why me?"

Harry looked up at the broken boy in front of him, and instantly knew what he was talking about. His mind brought him back to all the visions of Draco Malfoy begging for not his own life, but others, all the images of apologetic grey eyes looking down at the victims forced upon him, and all the images of the boy laying on the floor, nearly lifeless. Harry shrugged, never having thought about why he'd done what he did for the boy, just knowing that he did what he should have done.

"You deserved it."

**Thinking of making this a two shot. Or maybe I should just stop it here? I don't know. I just like these characters and how they fit together. Any thoughts?**


End file.
